


Safe Travels

by PhilosophicalRune



Category: Sanders Sides, Sanders Sides (Video Blogging RPF) - Fandom, Sanders Sides (Web Series), Thomas Sanders
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Human, Angst with a Happy Ending, Anxiety Attacks, Blood and Injury, Crying, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Gun Violence, M/M, Mild Language, Robbery, protective Logan
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-26
Updated: 2018-03-26
Packaged: 2019-03-26 07:51:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,655
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13853298
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PhilosophicalRune/pseuds/PhilosophicalRune
Summary: It was only a matter of time until Logan Sanders and his partner Patton Thompson had their first semi-idyllic semester living in their own apartment disrupted by unforeseen events. However, as a new homeowner, Logan expected unforeseen events to be something along the lines of a burst pipe or peeling wallpaper. But when one lives in a crime ridden neighborhood on the edge of campus, one can never underestimate the capacity for violence to strike close to home...and to heart.





	Safe Travels

**Author's Note:**

> Fun fact: I based this fic off of events that recently happened to me! Me? Venting? It's more likely than you think! Also I barely edited this so *shrugs*

 

_ Bzzt! _

From atop a cracked open biology textbook a phone vibrated. Absently, a slender hand with pale fingers curled around the shaking device and swiped the screen unlocked.  

_ <Patton>: Just got out of class im hitting up the mart before coming home need anything? _

The gleam of the screen left a bluish sheen on the thick lenses of a pair of glasses. The wearer of the glasses smiled and typed out a response.

_ <Logan>: I don’t believe so thanks anyway _

The response came before the man could even put the phone down.

_ <Patton>: OK! did you eat lunch yet? _

A guilty pause.

_ <Logan>: …...Yes _

The phone buzzed with what the man most certainly imagined to be more vehemence than usual.

_ <Patton>: hoNEY _

_ <Logan>: I’m just about to start my paper!! _

The next few messages came in rapid succession.

_ <Patton>: eAT _

_ <Patton>: ill fite u _

_ <Patton>: with love _

The man smiled and chuckled dryly.

_ <Logan>: I’m eating it now I promise :) _

_ <Patton>: :D _

_ <Patton>: Look at you with the emojis im so proud _

_ <Patton>: Be home soon ily _

_ <Logan>: ok love you too safe travels _

 

* * *

 

Logan’s mouth quirked into a smile as he placed his phone back into his pocket. He settled down into the rickety chair at the kitchen table, sighing in contentment as he shuffled through the disorganized piles of papers. From his battered bookbag he withdrew his meager lunch of a sandwich and an apple as well as his laptop; switching the bulky device on and taking a bite out of the apple, he pulled up a blank document. Putting the apple aside, he read through his prompt once more and settled down to type. 

_ 'One never quite understands just how desensitized to violence one is until violence strikes far too close to home.’ _

Logan paused in his typing, taking a moment to scrutinize the opening sentence of his midterm paper and to unwrap his sandwich. His topic was gun control, and he could feel his passion for debate rising up in his mind. He nibbled his sandwich and glanced at his outline, a formless haze of ideas in his mind slowly taking shape and gaining clarity as he traced his plan of attack. He licked the mayonnaise off of his fingers before flexing them, and then hunched forward, the clacking of the keys mingling with the faint ticking of the clock. 

_ ‘In a world full of seemingly ubiquitous pro-gun coalitions, violence-ridden movies, and political unrest in regards to ‘the gun debate’, it is seemingly impossible to escape images and talks of guns and violence.’  _

It was midterm season. Breakout rooms were completely reserved and full of breakdowns. The library was stocked full of books and stressing students. The overflow of students who were suddenly interested in studying had driven Logan from his usual hideaway in the expansive library (distressed groans and tears were slightly distracting) and to a much more quiet and domestic place; his apartment with his third year early childhood education major boyfriend.  __

When Logan first met Patton Thompson in his own sophomore year and Patton’s freshman year in a history gen ed, he had not expected to really like him; Patton was loud and sometimes painfully naive. But Patton saw Logan in all of his introverted glory, decided he liked him, and marched his way into Logan’s bubble. Sophomore Logan would have scoffed to hear himself now; “ _ you bought an apartment? With  _ that  _ man? And you’re engaging in romantic entanglement with him? Surely you have grown what they call soft!” _

And yet, here Logan was, three years later, sitting in the cozy apartment he rented with his sweet and wonderful partner Patton. It was a humble abode in every sense of the word. Small, cramped, and cracking in unnerving places, the apartment was rather like a slightly glorified crypt; the walls were made of crumbling off-white plaster and the floor was of creaky hardwood. When they had first rented it about three years prior, Logan saw a lost cause amongst the plaster dust and complete lack of furniture; Patton, however, saw a project and a coupon to IKEA in his email feed. And so, with only slightly illegal permission from the landlord, they fixed up the apartment as best as their renovating abilities, schedules, and landlord’s home repair stipend allowed. 

The result was a rather eccentric yet endearing home that was somehow simultaneously organized and chaotic; truly it reflected the nature of its inhabitants. With bursts of college thriftiness, thirst for aesthetics, and a yearning for quality domesticity, Patton had decorated the place with little knick knacks, filled the kitchen cabinets with mismatched, colorful plates he had scrounged from area flea markets, and made bright, fluffy pillows. To this day, they enjoyed spending their free time browsing the stalls at flea markets, constantly on the lookout for cheap cookware and home supplies. Logan, a much more practical soul, had been careful to provide basic necessities, such as batteries, light bulbs, and bath towels (“Oh my goodness  _ Logan,  _ these have  _ rubber duckies  _ on them!” “I thought that they would meet your... _ eccentric  _ standards.”)  

This gentle yet awkward one bedroom apartment, a place that was literally held together in places by semi-skillfully painted over duct tape, was where Logan jolted back to reality once he realized he had wasted about ten minutes reminiscing. He blinked, cracking his knuckles and hunching over his laptop again. He tried not to get distracted by the ambient urban noise of cantankerous car horns, blustery buses, and vociferous voices that floated in from the busy street below. Patton had left one of dingy windows open in an attempt to encourage a warm spring breeze into the musty living room before leaving for his class an hour ago. 

Logan tried to ignore the noise and the increasing chill that arrived with the decreasing evening temperatures as he fought to regain his focus and continue with his work. However, just as he was about to formulate his thesis, police sirens seemingly just outside the window began to scream, shattering the mining city peace. Logan swore and jumped. He turned his head just in time to see flashing red and blue lights darting out of sight on the street below. The wailing sirens echoed like the cries of a banshee through the concrete alleyways. Seconds later, the forlorn wailing of an ambulance sped after the police car. 

Unnerved, he checked his phone for a police activity text alert from the college; as a student of a college located in an ‘ unfriendly’ neighborhood, he often received text alerts along the lines of ‘ _ Armed robbery at X and Y streets. Avoid the area. City police are responding’  _ or ‘ _ Shots fired at X building. Avoid the area. City police are responding…’. _ Normally, he shrugged these texts off, as they were sent to him at ungodly hours of the night or in places Logan was nowhere near. He chuckled slightly as he mused about how desensitized he had become to these text alerts and the violence behind them and how this tied in with his thesis: 

‘ _ It can be argued that the near constant and oftentimes involuntarily internalized exposure to firearms and firearm related violence warps the behaviors and mindsets of people of most ages. In fact, a study conducted in 2017 at the University of-’ _

_ Bzzt! _ Seconds later, his phone buzzed. Furrowing his brow, he unlocked his phone and was slightly surprised to see none other than the university texting him to say  _ ‘Armed robbery at the Sunoco Mini Mart on 16th and Hazelnut. Avoid the area. City Police are responding’.  _

Logan blinked. Sixteenth and Hazelnut was just two blocks away from the apartment. He turned to look out of the window, the hairs on his arms raising as he recalled the screaming sirens only seconds before. Quite suddenly, and against his better instincts telling him that he was in fact surrounded by a bed of near constant crime and that it was therefore pointless to worry, he stood up and hurried to lock the door and shut the window. The urban sounds outside were instantly muffled. The only sounds were the clock ticking and Logan’s breathing. He stood before the window, grasping the crumbling sill and resting his head against the glass. He chewed his lips and watched the tide of traffic below.

Logan was a firm believer in coincidence alone; psychic powers and other superstitious forces did not dictate the events of his life. But as he leaned against the window, his fingers tapping distractedly against the aging wood and his stomach knotting, he couldn’t help but think that the sirens, coupled with the text alert and his inexplicable feeling that something was distinctly wrong about this situation were all connected. 

He shook his head, cleared his throat, and angrily pulled the curtains closed. It was all nonsense, just pure coincidence. His stress and overexertion due to midterms were getting to him. So long as he remained safely indoors, he had no need to worry. He stalked back to the kitchen table where his workspace was currently spread out, and began to clear away the remnants of his lunch. He had barely touched it, and he winced to think of how he might worry Patton by not eating as much as he needed to. He never got hungry when he was stressed, and Patton-

Logan froze midway through crumpling up his napkin. Shaking, he put down his plate, barely registering the clink of the ceramic on the scarred table as he hastily reached for his phone, shakily swiping it open and feverishly scrolling through his conversation with Patton. 

< _ Sent at 4:52> _

_ <Patton>: Just got out of class im hitting up the mart before coming home need anything? _

Logan pushed his glasses up his nose before running his hand distractedly through his hair. There was only one Sunoco Mini Mart on this side of campus, and he immediately remembered that said store was affectionately called the ‘Mart’ by all students, Patton included. His heart pounded when he realized that the Mart was at Sixteenth and Hazelnut, and that the Mart was only a five minute’s walk from Patton’s lecture hall.

_ Armed robbery at Sunoco Mini Mart. _

What if Patton had been there…?

_ Avoid the area. _

There had been an ambulance...

_ City police are responding. _

“Oh god,” Logan whispered, and he shakily pulled up Patton’s number. With increasing difficulty, he typed out a hasty text:  _ ‘are u ok there was a robbery at the mart’.  _

He waited a minute.

Silence.

_ ‘Pat don’t go to the mart there was police and ambulance and everything just get inside somewhere’. _

Logan ground his foot into the hardwood, making the boards creak and screech. Bouncing on his toes, he tore his gaze from his phone and towards the door, his ears cocked for the sound of Patton’s footsteps racing up the stairs.

“Jesus Christ,” Logan muttered, “Of all the days to be unresponsive!”

There was radio silence. That was unusual and alarming, as Patton always had his phone in hand unless he was in class. Logan knew he wasn’t in class. Logan tugged at his collar and took a deep, calming breath. No, he was overreacting. Patton was probably lagging behind to talk to his professor. He always got somewhat distracted by anything; if he ran into a friend, he could be delayed easily for half an hour. Logan knew that when Patton said ‘I’ll be home in five’ he could be relied upon to come home half an hour later. Patton was probably just distracted and, once receiving the text, would stay inside the lecture hall. 

Logan didn’t know why he was acting so cagey. Normally, he and Patton did not pay close attention to each other’s whereabouts, both needing time by themselves and both respecting the fact that they didn’t constantly need to be together. It was a lovely deal that Logan usually always respected except in emergency, and even then they called so as to get one another’s attention (“Lo I forgot to print out my paper for class in five minutes what do I do?!” “I’m on my way” “This is why I love you”). 

He swallowed his nerves, turning his ringtone on full volume just the same, and returned to clearing away the remnants of his lunch. His stomach was gurgling nauseously, for his stomach frequently hurt when he was nervous. There was no way he could eat now. He scraped away the crusts of his sandwich and proceeded to wash his dishes, the soothing rush of water over his skin calming his nerves. 

“He’s fine,” Logan grumbled to himself, “Stop being irrational.”

With determination, he cleaned the dishes, trying very hard to ignore the fact that he had heard nothing from Patton. Plunging his hands into the hot water, he avoided thinking about what would happen if Patton really was in trouble, ignored the nagging sensation in his gut in regards to Patton’s unusual silence, and he tried to regulate his breathing. 

The ticking of the clock felt like someone flicking him in the ear. Each tick seemed to go faster than the next, and seemed to grow in volume. He just couldn’t shake the feeling that this time, something was wrong.

Logan nearly dropped the plate again as a few minutes later, his phone started to ring. Hastily, he tossed the plate into the sudsy water, and wiped his hands dry on his jeans, stumbling over to the kitchen table to see “ _ Patton Calling _ ” on his phone. With damp fingers he answered the call and dripped water all over his ear as he urgently said “Hello?”

Blood pounded though the throbbing vein in his temple when Logan heard ragged breathing on the other end of the line, a terrifying noise combined with a heady mixture of roaring diesel engines, glitching police radios, and urgent voices. 

“Patton? Patton, what’s wrong?” Logan said urgently, his tone not giving away the utter panic he felt rising in his throat. 

“L-Logan?” came a trembling whimper. Logan immediately reached for his jacket and shrugged it onto his shoulder with one hand.

“Yes, I’m here,” Logan said, trying his damndest to keep his tone soothing while praying that Patton could not hear the distinct quaver in his voice, “Are you alright? Why are you crying?”

Patton was silent save for poorly contained sobs. Logan’s worst fears were confirmed when he heard the same loud wailing siren echo from both Patton’s end of the line and down the street. His stomach wrenched violently, and his heart was thumping so hard against his chest he felt like he was entering the initial stages of cardiac arrest. 

“I-I, I’m in an ambulance,” Patton sobbed, sniffling, “T-There was a man...w-with a gun, and now they’re asking me questions and they have all kinds of wires on me and-and-!”

“Breathe, Pat,” Logan heard himself admonish as if he was a listening to someone far away. He floundered around on the table, grasping with quaking hands for his wallet and his keys, “Are you hurt?!”

There was a thin moment of silence before Patton spoke again. “I’m j-just really scared. I-I’m so scared,” Patton choked out, “C-Can you come get me? Please…?”

“Yes of course, I’ll be right there, just hang in there for a little while,”  Logan said as he tucked the phone between his shoulder and his ear, hopping ungracefully on one leg as he forced his foot into his boot. Patton’s distressed voice was so indescribably heart wrenching; Logan rarely felt his eyes stinging upon hearing someone’s voice. He wasn’t the most empathetic of people, but hearing his sweet, naive partner so terrified out of his mind that he seemed to choke on his own inhales stirred within him both intense pity and unnerving, unfathomable rage.

Logan stormed towards the door, tearing the lock back and clattering down the steps two at a time. 

“I’m already coming,” Logan gasped, wincing as his heavy boots assaulted the groaning metal steps of the complex, “I’ll be right there, alright? Remember to take deep breaths; hyperventilation will only worsen your situation.”

“I-I’m so scared,” Patton murmured tearfully, the rest of his lament drowned out by a blasting ambulance siren, followed by an ominous near-silence.  “T-The ambulance is gone.”

“What?! I thought you were in it!” Logan said, barrelling into the lobby and screeching to a halt. His mind raced, unsure as to where to go; Patton hadn’t explicitly said he wasn’t hurt, had he? What if he was enroute to the hospital? Should he get an Uber there? What hospital? Should he-

“Was I?” Patton gasped dumbly, his tremulous voice confused, “I-I don’t remember.” 

Logan stumbled around the lobby in a shaky circle, grabbing at his hair and moving his mouth away from the phone to growl out an exasperated sigh. 

“You don’t remember?” Logan asked in a higher pitched voice than normal, indicating he was masking his frustration.

Patton giggled shakily, “I g-guess you could say it was... _ shot  _ out of my head!”

Logan could feel his chest clench. Puns about gun violence were not good from anybody, but especially more so from Patton. 

“Are you  _ quite certain  _ you’re not hurt?” Logan asked gently, his frustration with Patton’s lack of communication being masked over with deep concern.

Patton merely giggled, and Logan’s hairs stood up on end; Patton’s voice was haunting. Hadn’t Logan read countless articles about how a victim of shock reacted to stressors? Patton certainly was not acting like he was well. 

“Where  _ are  _ you?!” Logan urged, too scared to sit in one place much longer when Patton needed him. 

“I’m at the mart. I’m in a different car now…still got flashy lights...and the wires...”

Patton was panting now, his every exhalation a vocalized groan. 

Logan sprang towards the exit and burst into the street below, hitting the concrete sidewalk so hard his knees almost buckled. He kept going, sprinting at a quick pace, his chest tightening with lack of air and at the sound of Patton’s terrified voice.

“They’re checking my oxygen now but I can’t-I can’t breathe-!” Patton said, his voice a crescendo from a broken whisper to a panicked wheeze. 

Logan broke into a sprint, “Just...Just listen to the paramedic, love. There is a paramedic, right?”

“...Yeah,”

“They’ll take care of you until I get there, OK?”

“...Promise?”

“I promise. That is their job, remember?”

Logan dodged between tides of people, ignoring the swears and gestures of those he careened into and waiting to hear Patton speak.

“Paramedic said I have to go,” Patton monotoned after a few seconds. 

“ _ Go where?! _ ” Logan gasped, already half a block up the street.

“Off the phone...Y-You’re coming right?”

“As fast as I can, I promise,” Logan responded, screeching to a halt at an intersection and bouncing impatiently from foot to foot while he waited for the light to change, “Hang in there, sweetheart, I’m coming.”

“I-I’ll try,”

“You’re going to be alright. You’re in the care of highly trained medical professionals,” Logan panted; it was difficult to decipher whether or not Logan was trying to comfort Patton or himself. 

“OK I-I have to go,” Patton stammered, another voice making itself be heard in the background; Logan assumed it was the paramedic. 

“I’ll be there in three minutes, OK?”

“I have to go.”

“I know. I love you.”

Patton hung up without a further word.

Logan dove to the side of the sidewalk for a moment so he could safely tuck his phone into his pocket. Regretting his sedentary lifestyle, he sucked in a huge breath and began sprinting once again. He shouted apologies to the elder folk who could not dive out of his way fast enough, and breathlessly thanked the dog walkers who restrained their hounds. He shoved through crowds of students, and tore through hoards of shoppers. He desperately ignored the sheer panic riding up in his chest as well as the swears of people and the annoyed honk of drivers. He had more important things to deal with than traffic safety.

Up ahead there flickered and flashed a series of emergency lights. The closer Logan got the clearer he could see the police personnel milling about, as well as hear the low roar of police car engines and the horrible gasping of the police radios. Uniformed and vested officers were hurrying to and from the mart, talking urgently to walkie talkies, each other, and themselves. Scattered amongst them were either deeply disturbed plainclothes or traumatized citizens; they were strewn about in tightly knit groups, staring wordlessly with glazed eyes from the officers to the flashing lights. There was no sign of an ambulance or Patton.

The sidewalk and parking lot around the gas station and mini mart was being cordoned off with the ureic yellow crime scene tape. It was to the very edge of this tape that Logan ran. He stood on his tiptoes, clutching at the tape and swiveling his head around like a gopher searching warily for a predatory hawk. The longer he did not see Patton, the harder it became to breathe or form a string of logical thought.

Suddenly, he spotted a relatively unoccupied, official looking man on the other end of the parking lot and inside the tape. Logan began to run towards him when a deep, rumbling voice made him halt in his tracks.

“What are you doing snooping around here, kid?”

Logan turned around and immediately wished he was about four inches taller and fifty pounds heavier. In a stance of hostility behind the police tape stood the surliest, bulkiest, and angriest cop had ever since, not that he had seen many. The man towered over him, and was shooting him a look that could curdle milk. Nervously, Logan eyed the handgun and billy club attached to the officer’s belt.

“I apologize, officer,” Logan began, trying desperately to keep his voice well modulated, “I’m only trying to get to my partner. He called me telling me that he had been involved with the incident here. I don’t know where he is or if he’s hurt-”

“Partner?” the officer interrupted, his slitted eyes narrowing further.

“Yes, my partner!” Logan said impatiently, “Please, I need to see him, he could be hurt-”

“Only guy that got hurt is on his way to the hospital gettin’ a bullet yanked out his shoulder,” the cop growled, “and he made no mention of bein’ a partner to no one.”

“Actually,” Logan began, unimpressed with the officer's intimidation, “did you know they don't take the bullet out until the patient reaches the hospital? It's because-”

The officer snarled. “I didn't ask for a lab report, boy! Now get out of here; there's an armed gunman around and I don't need some sissy college smartass getting hurt and causing a ruckus.”

Logan slumped, the wind out of his sails. He blinked when the officer’s radio cackled with a cryptic police code, and jumped when suddenly one of the police cars inside the crime scene tape suddenly revved its engine and began to glare its sirens. Logan resisted the urge to cover his ears when the officer didn’t bat an eye, and watched as the car sped off through the only open gap in the crime scene tape. When Logan looked to where the car once was, his heart leapt into his throat. 

There, in the back of another ambulance, sat a huddle figure wrapped in a blanket and being attended to by a hovering man with a red cross embellished on his shoulder. The figure with his khaki clad legs dangling limply from the back of the ambulance had his head in his hands and was shaking visibly, even at such a distance. His dark framed yet spindly metal rimmed glasses looked like dark scars in between his clutching fingers.

“Are you listening to me, boy?! I said it’s against protocol-” 

Logan tore his gaze away from the ambulance and back towards the cop. Logan spread his shoulders back, and stared the man square in the eye. His throat swelled uncomfortably, and his jaws clenched so hard he felt his teeth squeak as they ground together.  He felt his hands and face heat up with sweat, and nearly every muscle in his arms and core tightened with an ire so strong it almost frightened him. 

“Officer, I’m going to be quite frank with you,” Logan hissed, “I am not emotionally invested in your adherence to protocol because that man-” he pointed over the officer's shoulder and to the crying figure in the back of the ambulance, “is my partner, and he-!”

In a matter of statistics it was to Logan's benefit that he was not able to finish his sentence, as it was likely to be laden with verbal material that would aid him into getting a one way ticket to prison; but suddenly, Logan did not care to think about how his words would have affected his future, for he had just watched out of the corner of his eye how the hovering paramedic gently lifted Patton’s hands away from his head.

Patton wasn't gripping his head out of fear and emotional unrest.

“And he's  _ bleeding! _ ” Logan heard himself shout, his body propelling forward and his eyes flying open.

Even at that distance, Logan could see the scarlet blood leaking out of a hideous gash on Patton’s temple. Logan's stomach convulsed; blood was spreading like infection on Patton’s favorite blue shirt. Crusted and fresh blood alike gleamed wetly in stark red streaks on his cheek, his ear, and his neck. The cotton balls the paramedic was gently dabbing at Patton’s temple was coming away a watery red. Patton’s responses to the paramedic were catatonic nods. 

“Listen, I don’t care who you are, you’re not allowed in here for safety reasons,” the cop growled, moving so that he obstructed Logan’s view. 

“You lied!” Logan shouted, forcefully fixing his glasses, “I thought you said that all persons with injuries were enroute to the hospital!”

“You best watch your mouth-”

“Are you implying that you are uncertain about the goings on in your own crime scene?”

“Hey, what’s going on here?”

Both Logan and cop were silenced when they heard a relaxed yet stern drawl draw closer. The cop turned around and Logan peered over his shoulder to see a much friendlier looking officer loping nearer with a perplexed grin on his face, his eyes lidded. 

“Already picking fights on your first day, Corb?” he said, grinning at the first officer before turning to Logan  “You gotta excuse him, Corbin’s just out the Academy, he’s gotta lotta ‘rone, you know?”

Logan blinked, the stark contrast between officers being so comical it almost drove his concerns slightly out of his mind, “...I wasn’t aware that roan was a coloration humans could possess.”

The second officer shot him a strange look but smiled. “Nah,  _ testosterone _ . I’m just playin’ though; what you doing here, kid? Ain’t no one allowed to be loitering.”  

“Sir, please, all I’m trying to do is meet my partner,” Logan said, shifting to stand in front of the new officer, who he sensed was slightly more lenient and trying to keep his composure, “He called me to inform me that he was injured in the happenings here, and he’s  _ right there _ , but-”

“-We can’t let him in, isn’t that right?” growled the first cop, Corbin, seeking his colleague's gaze for support.

His colleague cocked a bushy eyebrow and ran a hand over his hair “Where is your heart, Corb? Dude’s lover be bleedin’ out over there and you ain’t let him in when you  _ know  _ that any relations to victims injured in a crime can be permitted to enter should they show valid ID?”

Logan smirked at the first cop and was met with a glare as the second cop continued. “Sorry, buddy, they squash the heart right outta you at the Academy. It takes  _ ages  _ to feel the love again...Come on over to my squad car, I’ll take your ID…”

“...They did  _ not  _ squash my heart,” Corbin grumbled as he followed after them, Logan thanking the second officer profusely while watching from the corner of his eye for Patton. 

“Answer my texts at some point then,” The second officer teased once they reached a police car with the driver’s door propped open, smirking at his colleague before addressing Logan. “Now, sir, I’m a need your full legal name…”

Agitatedly, Logan gave his full name and handed over his driver’s license. He had no time for this flirtatious twaddle; why could they not let him through? He stood before the car and kept looking over his shoulder. His heart sank to his stomach when he saw Patton occasionally lift his head and look around, very obviously looking for someone. Once, Logan tried to capture his attention with a wave, but the surly Corbin shot him a look that lowered his hand before it was raised. 

“Sloane, he clean?” Corbin asked the second officer after a few minutes, watching as the officer entered Logan’s information and scanned his ID at what Logan deemed to be a painfully slow rate.

“Just give the machine a moment, dude,” The first officer drawled while watching the loading signal on the screen that was installed in the passenger seat, “Gee, they take your patience away too?”

Meanwhile, as the two officers bickered, Logan was busily typing out a text to Patton: ‘ _ I’m here but a few officers intercepted me and they’re not letting me in, look to your right’ _

Logan shot off the text and glanced over at Patton; as per usual, his phone was clutched tightly in his hand, it likely being the only form of comfort Patton had at the moment. Logan could almost hear Patton’s text notification for him (every text Patton received from Logan was announced with a deep voice saying ‘Bill Nye the Science Guy’), and he watched desperately as Patton looked at his phone screen. His hopeful smile faded when Patton seemed to blink woozily, and he smothered the urge to facepalm when Patton slowly, almost ponderously, swiveled his head to his left. 

A pang of concern shot through Logan like electricity when Patton’s eyes squeezed shut and his mouth opened, his teeth bared; Patton was in pain. He gripped his head, pawing tenderly at his temple. Logan watched as the paramedic turned and saw him fiddling with his wound, and watched as the paramedic took his hand away. Patton saw the blood on his hands, and Logan saw the whites of his eyes and his skin grow alarmingly pale. Patton’s mouth opened again, and Logan could faintly hear “ _ I’m bleeding! _ ”

“Ah, we’ve got you cleared, Mr. Sanders!” Sloane drawled cheerfully, a man quite out of sync with his immediate surroundings, “Now, I’m sorry, but you gotta submit to a quick frisk before entering. That’s a rule I can’t let slide.”

“Yes, yes, fine,” Logan hissed as he impatiently snatched his license back, spreading his arms out and gnawing the inside of his cheek. He smothered a growl of displeasure when Corbin throughly patted him down, using more force than Logan felt was warranted. All the while Logan was made to turn out his pockets, his eyes were still on Patton. His fingers shook as he helplessly watched the paramedic try to calm Patton down, and his heart pounded with panic when a second paramedic appeared, providing a paper bag for Patton while the other glanced worryingly at the small object clipped to Patton’s finger. 

“He’s clean,” Corbin growled, his expression betraying his disappointment.

Logan turned hopefully to the first officer, who held the tape up. “Come with me, Mr. Sanders.”

“Oh, thank you,” Logan gasped, shaking the officer’s hand, “Thank you so much.”

Logan all but dove under the tape. Without waiting for either of the officers, he tore across the parking lot and made a beeline straight to the ambulance. He heard the cops behind him shouting something, but he completely ignored it, dodging emergency personnel and not even apologizing to those he flew into. Logan had never felt such raw emotion seething through his veins. 

The pounding of Logan’s footsteps on asphalt made Patton’s head jerk up. His teary eyes flew wide, and a relieved smile stretched across his face.

“L-Logan!” he cried out weakly, struggling feebly with the shock blanket and sliding down from his perch before Logan or paramedic could protest. The hyperventilation bag crumpled completely forgotten to the asphalt below. As soon as his feet hit ground, Patton’s eyes crossed, and he swayed heavily forward. 

“Patton!” Logan yelped, springing forward and quite literally catching Patton as he lurched forward. His heart pounded in his chest as Patton collapsed heavily against his chest, and a liquid warmth squelched against his skin as Patton pressed his face into Logan’s neck.

“D-Dizzy…” Patton slurred in his ear, his arms hanging limply at his sides, his full weight pressing into Logan via his chest and shoulders. He felt like a pile of stones in Logan’s arms. The warm shock blanket slid off of Patton’s shoulder and swamped around their feet, revealing just how clammy and cold Patton felt.  

“Can I have some assistance, please?” Logan cried out in an uncharacteristically high pitched and strained voice, using all of his strength to keep Patton from falling; Patton was shorter than him, but he was stockier, and he was not supporting any of his own weight. Instead, he was gabbering to Logan, his words smudging together and nearly incomprehensible in nature. 

The paramedic leaped out from the back of the ambulance upon hearing Logan’s voice, shot him a quizzical look for a millisecond before tutting quietly and helping Logan ease Patton back down onto the edge of the ambulance. When released from Logan’s hold, Patton started crying, and reached out again. Logan felt a white hot twinge of guilt, heartbreak, and helplessness melt his very core. He immediately grabbed Patton’s hands and brushed his thumbs over Patton’s bruised knuckles, shushing him soothingly and brushing his lips gently against his forehead, the pressure as featherlight as if he were soothing an infant.  

“Oh my god,” Logan breathed as he pulled away, reaching up to brush the blood-soaked hair away from the still-oozing gash on Patton’s temple, his stomach curling at the sight, “What happened?”

“Please, sir, don’t touch,” came a soft voice behind him.

Logan turned sharply, his lips curling into a snarl but paused when he saw the sympathetic gaze of the paramedic. His surgical gloves were covered in blood.

Patton’s blood. 

“We’re trying to keep the wound clean,” the paramedic explained in a well modulated voice, walking gently forward with an open first-aid kit and dabbing fresh gauze pads to Patton’s temple, “I’m guessing you’re his boyfriend?”

Logan nodded and muttered a half incomprehensible response, his mouth open as he gaped at the wound and sought Patton’s eyes; Patton looked even worse up close. His eyes were glazed and unfocused, and they were red and puffy from crying. Logan could see every throbbing vessel in the whites of his eyes whenever he glanced up from crying to see that Logan was still there. His pupils were unnaturally large for the six o’clock evening light. His skin was clammy, and his hands were utterly cold in Logan’s grasp. However, Patton’s grip was incredibly strong; he squeezed Logan’s hands so hard that Logan winced, but it was a pain he was beyond willing to tolerate. 

“What happened?” Logan asked again, looking at Patton. Patton blearily looked up, and opened his mouth to speak, but his lips wobbled. Logan felt a suffocating lump form in his throat when Patton immediately broke down, his hands coming to clutch at his hair once again, his body shaking like a leaf once Logan enveloped him in a hug. 

“He was quite composed when he told his story to the police,” the paramedic said loudly over Patton’s sobs in what Logan deemed to be an unfeeling voice, “Never saw a man who just saw a man get shot so calm.”

“He saw  _ what?! _ ” Logan yelped, gathering Patton closer to himself in an unconsciously protective gesture, completely wrapping himself around Patton’s violently shaking form. 

“From what I was told,” the paramedic said, lifting Patton’s head from Logan’s shoulder to dab at the wound once more, “Two armed gunmen entered the shop; one of them held up the cashier, and one of them held up Mr. Thompson, who was checking out. There was a confrontation, and the cashier was shot.”

Patton wailed quietly and hid his face into the crook of Logan’s neck, whimpering inconsolably when the paramedic ordered him to lift his head once more. 

“Must we talk about this now?” Logan hissed in an undertone to the paramedic.

“The second gunman I suppose tried to knock Mr. Thompson unconscious; what you see here is the result of the butt of a gun being forcibly brought against his skull,” the paramedic listed on, humming in satisfaction as the gauze pad he pulled away came away clean.

“...You’re saying to me that a...that a delinquent  _ pistol whipped  _ my  _ boyfriend _ ?!” Logan growled, his voice rising in volume and utter rage as he realized the implication of the paramedic’s words.

“D-Don’t yell, please…” Patton whimpered, tightening his hold around Logan’s middle and hiccuping. Logan winced, a pang of guilt twisting knots in his stomach as he apologized and kissed Patton’s hair.

“I’m afraid so,” the paramedic said as he walked around Logan and reached into the back of the ambulance for another foreign tool. 

“What do you think the extent of the damage is? Does he have to go to the hospital?” Logan asked anxiously, stroking Patton on the back though his shaky gasping, gently but firmly tapping out a rhythm onto Patton’s quaking ribs. 

The paramedic clicked his tongue as he methodically searched through a new kit. “We’re thinking he is almost definitely concussed-”

“-I’d agree,” Logan interrupted, recalling Patton’s inability to remember where he was, whether or not he was injured, as well as his inability to stand on his own.

“-That alone is worth a trip to the ER. I’m not completely certain, but he may also have some skull fractures.”

Logan picked up a clean piece of gauze from the paramedic’s kit and wet it with his tongue before wiping at the drying blood on Patton’s neck. He smiled softly when Patton involuntarily giggled; Logan knew Patton was ticklish around his neck. 

“What about the wound? He’s bled a vast quantity of blood, it seems-”

“-The wound actually isn't that deep,” the paramedic said, handing Logan instead a wet wipe and catching his eye as he explained that “facial wounds tend to bleed a whole lot more because there’s a great concentration of vessels and capillaries in the skin of the face. They burst open easily.”

“You don't believe he’s severed anything serious?” Logan inquired urgently, uneasily eyeing the gash.

“No. If he did, he’d be on his way to the ER. Now, we’re going to do a field eval for a concussion…”

The paramedic rambled on mostly to himself, for Logan became immersed in cleaning the blood off of Patton’s face and neck. He scrubbed gently but firmly, determined to scrub away every drop of blood, every terrible memory, every molecule that betrayed the fact that Patton had been injured. 

_ I am his partner. I wash the blood from his face and hair. That is  _ my  _ job  _ Logan thought to himself, sickened at the idea that this was a task that had to befall him, sickened that this was a situation that had to befall Patton. While the paramedic entered the ambulance again, speaking a few words with his colleague, Logan sat down beside Patton and tilted his head so that he may wash away the pain. 

“L-Logan,” Patton stammered eventually, his breathing becoming rapid and shallow between sobs. His sluggishly swiveling eyes gaze met Logan’s, though they seemed unable to properly focus, “You’re here, right?”

Logan nodded but furrowed his brow. Patton was definitely concussed. “I’m right here, sweetheart. Can’t you see me?”

“Yeah, I can...I just...makin’ sure you didn't leave…”

Logan kissed a band of freckles on Patton’s nose, hope and elation causing his heart to pound when Patton giggled wetly. “You never have to worry about me leaving you,” he murmured.

“P-Please don’t leave,” Patton begged, tears rolling down his cheeks. His fingers fidgeted under Logan’s grasp.

Logan sighed shakily as he lowered the bloodstained wet wipe, and leaned forward, burying his nose into Patton’s hair. “I would never. I’m not going anywhere,” he murmured, his voice breaking as he suddenly felt overwhelmed at the entire situation.

“P-Promise?”

“I promise,” Logan said, seeking Patton’s unfocused gaze before kissing him on the cheek out of sheer, dizzying relief. 

The gravity of the entire situation hadn’t hit Logan until the moment Patton had fallen into his arms. He hadn’t allowed himself to feel the entirety of his worry, hadn’t allowed himself to register just how truly terrified he had been about potentially losing Patton. In times of need and stress, his mind took over, and he ignored the physical symptoms of his body. And so, it wasn’t until he was washing the blood off of Patton’s pale skin did he truly feel how fast his heart was pounding, how dry his mouth was feeling, and how weak with worry he was feeling. He sat down beside Patton, satiating his mind’s desire for reassurance of Patton’s presence, and he kept finding himself burying his face into Patton’s hair as he cleaned, searching desperately for that familiar scent of rose and vanilla, and becoming more and more devastated when all he could smell was the sickening iron scent of blood. 

Both Logan and Patton were distressed as the paramedic forced them to stand apart from each other so that he could perform a concussion test on Patton. Logan shifted his weight from foot to foot,his fingers fiddling with the hem of his shirt, inching closer and closer while the paramedic waved a pen in front of Patton’s face and shone a light into his eyes. The paramedic became increasingly frustrated when Patton’s gaze wandered back to Logan. 

Patton’s responses to the paramedic’s memory questions were sluggish and mostly correct. (“Who is the current President?” “...Obamaaaaa, pleeasee...” “Well…”). After the evaluation, the paramedic switched off his light and conferred with his colleague. Logan heard snippets of his conversation, but did not care; he hurried forward to Patton again, who had held open his arms and whimpered. 

“Why didn’t you tell me you were injured?” Logan whispered to him, trying to keep the hurt out of his voice. He had asked multiple times; why couldn’t Patton just tell him?

“You’d worry,” Patton hiccuped simply, nestling comfortably closer to Logan as Logan’s gentle hands more firmly wrapped the shock blanket around his shaking shoulders. Patton had reached the point where he had no tears left, and was simply apathetic.

Logan sighed. “I’m your partner, love, it’s my privilege to worry about your physical wellbeing.”

There was a moment of silence where they held one another and simply breathed in one another’s scent and listened to the controlled chaos around them.

“I saw a man shot today,” Patton stated blandly after a few moments of silence.

Logan didn’t want to cry more until he heard how empty Patton’s normal vibrant voice sounded when he pronounced that statement.

“I...I saw it happen, Lo.”

“...Please try not to think about it,” Logan whispered in response, genuinely disturbed and pulling Patton closer to his chest as if seeking the warm man he knew beneath the blood and salty tear tracks. 

He doubted that he would ever find him again.

By order of the paramedics minutes later, Patton was sent to the hospital to have proper MRIs and X-Rays completed. Neither of the boys had ever ridden in an ambulance before, so it was simultaneously a breathtaking and stressful experience.

Logan was permitted to ride in the ambulance with Patton, who was gently told to lay down on the stretcher secured tightly in the back of the ambulance. Logan squeezed Patton’s hand as one paramedic hopped into the driver’s seat and the other entered the back of the ambulance. Logan could briefly see the two police officers he had encountered bickering with one another before the door slammed shut, and the engine roared to life. Logan swallowed hard, and Patton clamped down on his hand as if it was the only thing grounding him to his universe. 

The ambulance sped away, the sirens wailing piercingly in Logan’s ears. Through the tiny tinted windows, Logan could see the blue and red lights reflecting off of windows and buildings, as well as the cautious yet curious gazes of the tides of people milling about on the sidewalks. Their faces were soon lost to view as the ambulances sped down the streets, the interior rattling with the velocity and the ear piercing noise. 

The interior of the ambulance was painfully silent in terms of conversation, Patton having fallen silent as he gazed languidly at the ambulance ceiling and the paramedic busying himself with checking Patton’s vital signs. Logan, meanwhile, was lost to his own thoughts, mechanically stroking his thumb against Patton’s white knuckles. 

Curiously, Logan found himself to be drifting away from the situation at hand. The rattling of the ambulance frame, the cold pressure of Patton’s hand, and the neck snapping jolts of the ambulance falling into potholes could not jar him from his unfocused sink into reminiscence.

That very morning, Logan had miraculously woken up before the annoyingly cheerful sound of Patton’s alarm to find himself encompassed in warmth. His face was tucked neatly in the crook of a sleeping Patton’s neck, the whistling of Patton’s breathing tickling his ear. They were both curled tightly together on the rickety bed, sleepily enjoying their slumber and togetherness before the inevitable worry and stressors of the day filtered through their minds and they had to get up. It had been the very picture of domesticity, something so soft and sticky that sophomore Logan would have gagged. 

They had both risen once the alarm had went off, and trekked to the cramped kitchen, affectionately bumping shoulders as they began their morning routine. Patton had laid out their breakfast dishes the night before, something he always did for himself and something he gladly did for Logan when they had moved in together. Glancing at watches, they hurried to make coffee and breakfast, chatting sleepily about their plans for the day and reminding each other to do simple errands like get milk and be sure to talk to their professor during office hours. Their main concerns that day had been about burning toast, incoming rent, and getting to class on time. 

Now, in the back of the ambulance with blood still leaking out of Patton’s temple, those worries seemed so trivial.

 

* * *

 

Logan and Patton did not get home from the ER until midnight. Upon reaching the hospital, Patton was sent in for an MRI, X-rays, and other tests while Logan filled out paperwork. The emergency room did not have the same fast paced action that Logan and Patton had seen from watching reality TV; paperwork had to be filled out, questions had to be answered, tests took several minutes to take, and several hours to read. 

They spent most of the night sitting in a tiny intake room, torpidly waiting for test results and listening to the empty reassurances of doctors. Patton was nestled on top of a bed, and nurses constantly came to check and make sure that his blankets were warm and that he was fairing well; they shot his tear rimmed eyes looks of sympathy, and they completely understood Logan’s look of strained worry. Throughout the night, Logan would not let go of Patton’s hand, and had to keep shaking him awake, as the doctor had ordered against him sleeping. 

Conversation was sparse; neither of them felt the desire to talk. Logan wasn’t sure as to whether Patton was in too much pain to talk or that he was just far too drained to even speak to the nurses. Logan himself had felt such a heady mixture of emotions that day that he had found himself to be wallowing in a slightly unsettling apathetic calm. It was the type of apathy that stuck to the stomach like undercooked meat, the kind that made him feel a bit nauseous but also completely, completely exhausted. 

Finally, the doctor returned and proclaimed to two utterly drained college students that Patton had a moderate concussion, but had thankfully avoided any skull fractures. He had pulled up a chair and carefully explained to Logan, who was the most coherent (Patton had resorted to making giggly bubbling noises for the past ten minutes), the side effects that Patton might experience. He had stuffed a virtual encyclopedia of information into Logan’s arms, along with a prescription for painkillers, and said that it was recommended that Patton stay in the hospital at least overnight for evaluation. 

“I don’t want to stay overnight!” Patton had cried, startling both Logan and the doctor, as they both assumed he was too concussed to be listening in. 

“Patton, the doctor recommended it, and I for one am willing to listen to his advice,” Logan croaked gently, his voice hoarse from lack of use, and he squeezed Patton’s hand gently. 

“All the well for you!” Patton hissed, his eyes starting to well with frustrated tears, “I’m the one staying overnight and I’ll be the one racking up a huge medical bill!”

“Don’t worry about the medical bill, love,” Logan said in a hushed voice, standing up to gently press a kiss to Patton’s forehead, “You have insurance, and I’m sure we can contact the university for help.”

Patton looked up at him, his red eyes gleaming with tears that threatened to spill the longer he looked into Logan’s languid eyes. “Are you sure?” he whispered, his voice breaking. 

“I’m sure,” Logan whispered, brushing his fingers gently through Patton’s damp hair, “I just want you to get the care you need. This is your brain we’re talking about.”

“But the money…”

Logan knelt down in front of him, seeking his gaze with a firm glint in his eyes, “I don’t care about the money. I care about  _ you. _ ”

With only a little more encouragement and reassurance, Patton was convinced that he would stay in the hospital until the doctors deemed him healthy enough to discharge. As Patton was wheeled into his overnight room, Logan glanced at his watch; it was one in the morning. Instantly, his limbs sagged and his eyes felt extremely heavy. All he wanted to do was take Patton out of this ward that resounded with the constant beeps and alarms of life support and take them both home. He wanted to tuck Patton under their own fluffy covers, not the thin generic ones he was given to tuck around Patton once they entered his overnight room, and he wanted to feed Patton their own food, not the clear, flavorless nutrient water that the doctor gave Patton to sup along with some oblong pills. 

And as the doctors left them alone for the night, Logan wanted nothing more than to crawl into the bed with Patton, and hug him as he cried to the world his sadness, fear, and exhaustion. But it was not to be.

As Logan sat in the chair next to Patton’s bed, nodding off to the sounding of Patton’s heartbeat through the vital sign monitor and not his chest, Logan prayed that their life would go back to normal after this.

But as he heard Patton's muffled sobs in the night, he knew that it wouldn't. 

**Author's Note:**

> HELLO NERDS it's been a while, hasn't it? I haven't posted any original content since January *vomits*. I was looking for some Fresh Content, when lo and behold I recently was in the same position as Patton. Kids, let me tell you, it was a w f u l. But fear not, I'm alright, and Patton will be too! Moral of the story; don't go to shady cornerstores after dark, and call your boyfriend if you need him. 
> 
> Please leave a kudos and a comment if you enjoyed! It really means a lot to me. If you want more of this, consider following me @theonlyjelly-iwillput-inmybelly on Tumblr for memes and writing, and follow @artables on Tumblr for art. Thank you for reading!


End file.
